Curious Flash Fiction by Simon J. Wood
Their words are writ large, on the pages of life, But to some folks, spelling causes no little strife. Is it ‘to’ or ‘too’ or even ‘two’? Or are you the sort who hasn’t a clue? Nowadays, we’ve Word and the internet, To solve any spelling or grammar point, yet “I’ll ignore Word’s squiggly red and blue lines, “Write what I like, it’ll all be fine “What does a program know about spelling and grammar?” “Well qu-quite a lot,” you’ll hear me st-stammer.
Nights bring the mystery of the stars and moon The tides of the cosmos flow like the sea Dreams of love till the dawn breaks soon The spirits of those who turn in the grave And the faces of those whose love we crave Come unbidden in waves, like the sea
To sleep, perchance to dream, I lay my head on the pillow. I close my eyes, but then it seems, Like the clouds, my thoughts start to billow. Did I remember to bolt the front door? And did I lock the car?
(250 words) Ray’s ‘great idea’ was a writing group, T’would be held at his house on the first. Me and my friend thought it sounded great, Ray didn’t want no one coerced.
(260 words) Dangerous baggage, A suitcase of thought. A family judges, But your soul can’t be bought.
Horizontally challenged, that was old Stan, But always so cheerful, a stoical man. Said his wife, Edna, “He’s an amicable bloke, But with only three inches, well, there ain’t much to stroke!” But Stan had his talents, for his missus to share, He wasn’t huge, true, but she didn’t care. Said Edna, “I shouldn’t complain about my old man, He’s a husband, a father, who does what he can.
(400 words) There’s snow on the steeple, and frost on the ground, Sweets for a penny and crackers for a pound. And a long woollen stocking at the foot of the sheets, Waiting for Santa to fill it with treats. Downstairs, there’s milk and mince pies on the table, For Santa to eat, whenever he’s able. Then sleepy eyes close, an end to resolve, The conundrum of Santa, the mystery to solve.
(369 words) There once was a lonely vampire, Johnny Fang was the poor fellow’s name. All he wanted was a young lass to love him, But, being dead, he was nobody’s flame. He’d wander at night through the graveyard, By the light of the silvery moon. Wondering how he could get him a gal, Who, at the sight of his fangs, wouldn’t swoon.
In winter the wood is unmaskedNaked limbs stretch in vainTowards the cold sun.Knobbly branches, like aged fingers,Poke the sky. Fallen boughs, decay and lightning’s victims,Lie like skeletons in winter’s graveyard.Bereft of summer’s green shrouds. Only black and brown remainFrom the multi-coloured canopy of autumn,Now fallen, a carpet damp and rotting,Untrodden … Holly and yew … Continue reading Guest Poem: Winter Scene
It's my pleasure to present a somewhat irreverent poem by my friend and fellow Write Away member, Nancy Richy, on the pesky and oft-avoided subject of death. I hope it'll raise a chuckle or three. Please check out her blog, The Elephant's Trunk for more "Creative short stories of drama, humor, family, irony, fantasy, love … Continue reading Guest Post: No Joke
So, the drop-down system has been consigned to the bin and a new streamlined system employed. All stories were categorised by subject and found to fall into eleven main categories (some stories fell into two or even three categories). Accordingly, these new subject categories have taken pride of place at the head of each page. And mobile and tablet menus work just fine too. So, it just remains for me to say that clicking on a subject category will take you to a table of all stories in that category, listed in alphabetical order, together with original publication date and word count. So, you get the best bang for your buck before deciding to plunge into actual reading!
(Acrostic Valentine Poem) Violets are violet, letters are read. A lover's words preserved blindly, left best unsaid. Envelopes, bundled, tied with a band ...